


my love isn't lost; it's all i got

by Lleavingwonderland



Series: a word that sometimes you cannot say [3]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Tartarus (Percy Jackson), Sally's POV, background percabeth and a heaping order of familial feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lleavingwonderland/pseuds/Lleavingwonderland
Summary: ""And so Sally’s heart, already wrung out with ache for Percy, made more room to ache for Annabeth. She was also acutely aware that Annabeth didn’t have a mother to ache for her and smooth her hair while she rode out a panic attack.“Annabeth,” Sally said, extending her arms for Annabeth to walk into, which she did. Sally pulled her close, cradling her shoulder and her head and said to her quietly, “Thank you for bringing him home.”“I said I would,” Annabeth whispered back.""or Sally reflects on Annabeth and Percy now that they're both home safe.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase & Sally Jackson (Percy Jackson), Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson
Series: a word that sometimes you cannot say [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826383
Comments: 10
Kudos: 179





	my love isn't lost; it's all i got

As soon as Annabeth Chase walked through the door of the Jackon-Blofis apartment Percy had enveloped her in a hug that, to anyone who didn’t know better, looked like it was the first time they had seen each other in weeks. Sally, however, did know better: it had only been a few days. She also knew why it felt like longer for the two of them, and why they both looked so relieved to finally be in the same room again. The Percy that she had picked up from camp was a thinner, darker, more on-edge version of her son than she had seen before. With no other way to stay in contact with Annabeth, he had borrowed Sally’s phone near constantly. The sad truth was in the text messages that he had left open when she had unlocked it once: a thread of “are you ok” and “im safe” from both of them. Frequent check-ins, over and over. The lack of teenage melodrama had stilled her—not that she had expected it from the two of them, but there weren’t even ‘I miss you’s and ‘I love you’s. They were all understood, in the white space between “nightmare. are you awake” and “are you ok”.

Sally sent the next text: an invitation for Annabeth to come over before she moved into her dorm in the suburbs for the year. Annabeth’s “I would love to” matched the near-tears-relief Sally saw on Percy’s face even as a casual “Really? Cool” came out his mouth.

Sally was struck by the girl who walked through the door: Annabeth, who had always been slim, now looked frail, her short-sleeved shirt hung off her frame and exposed the bones in her arms. Her hair which, though historically was often pulled into messy braids and messy buns and messy ponytails, had been a lustrous blonde was now more dull and looked thinner. Unfortunately, she matched Percy. They had been through hell and looked the part.

In the week that her son had been home, she had learned the stark outline of what had happened to him. Sometimes the words came spilling out of him like a flood that he couldn’t stop; words like ‘I woke up alone’ and ‘wolves’ and ‘Hera’ and ‘Romans’. Sometimes the words came slow and sparse, like he was drawing poison out of a wound, wretched and necessary words like ‘Tartarus’ and ‘Greece’ and ‘I couldn’t let her go alone’.

Sally put together the pieces that she had, and was always careful never to push for more than she was given. Percy’s job was to heal—her job was to help him whenever she could, to remind him to eat in the mornings, to hold him when he cried, to listen whenever he decided he was ready to let another memory into the light. Sometimes he looked lighter after he spoke, the lines around his eyes less tight, his breathing more even. Sometimes he would let out a whispered secret with no context and no details then just stare and stare and stare.

She didn’t know what he meant when he said ‘It’s Night again’, at 3 am standing in the dim kitchen, bleary eyed. Of course it was night, but his tone indicated something that the sunrise in four hours wouldn’t fix. She had taken the glass from his hand and filled it with water and sat with him at the kitchen table. “Do you want to talk about it?” He drank the water, shook his head. “That’s alright,” she reminded him.

And so Sally’s heart, already wrung out with ache from the tiny snippets of the battle she had seen going on behind her son’s eyes, made more room to ache for Annabeth. She was also acutely aware that Annabeth didn’t have a mother to ache for her and smooth her hair while she rode out a panic attack.

“Annabeth,” Sally said, extending her arms for Annabeth to walk into, which she did.

Sally pulled her close, cradling her shoulder and her head and said to her quietly, “Thank you for bringing him home.”

“I said I would,” Annabeth whispered back.

Sally didn’t break the hug or pull back until Annabeth did first, knowing Annabeth was short on comforters and, in all truth, because she had missed and worried for her as well. Annabeth had become a regular fixture in the Jackson household the prior fall when she and Percy started dating, but she had continued to come over even after his disappearance. The poor girl was distraught, blaming herself, following all leads, putting enough pressure on her shoulders to crush herself. She brought Sally updates about the search like she was reporting to a commanding officer, informing her and Paul of all of her movements and plans and theories about the gods’ game as they developed. Sally, even in the midst of a fog of grief for Percy, had never once blamed Annabeth, and made a point of never asking her to do more or telling her to work harder.Annabeth’s frantic search and upset gave way to a vulnerable trust. Before December Annabeth had always been stubbornly polite, calling Sally ‘Mrs. Jackson’ and Paul ‘Mr. Blofis’ no matter how many times they corrected her, and being a guest on her best behavior.

That had all changed, though, over the course of six months when Annabeth’s visits evolved from formal stop-ins to standing appointments on Saturdays. Annabeth brought news of the search and complaints about the newcomers at camp and memories of her summers spent with Percy. Sally cooked for her and brought out photo albums and her best listening ears over third and fourth cups of coffee. Annabeth finally started calling her Sally in January.

The visit had been particularly fraught—the spring semester of school had started and Percy was still gone, they had finally taken down the Christmas tree and stored the presents, still wrapped, in the closet. Sally cried in front of Annabeth for the first time. She had done her best up to that point to play the comforter for Annabeth, the upset-but-optimistic mom, the adult in the situation, here to receive news and offer encouragement. She had always waited until the phone call ended or the door closed to let herself break down. But it had been a month and she felt like she was losing hope: her baby was gone. So when Annabeth cried, she cried too, and she said, “Baby, I know you’re doing all you can”. And Annabeth had been very still and looked at her like she was seeing her for the first time. The next time she walked in she said “Hi, Sally”.

Sally knew that Annabeth had good reasons to be selective with who she gave her trust to, from what Percy had told her of Annabeth’s story. She appreciated what a precious thing it was to have earned Annabeth’s trust, and she hoped that even though everything was different now that it wouldn’t be revoked.

Sally remembered the first she heard of Annabeth, in long tumbling sentences as twelve year old Percy told her all about his quest across the country for a lightning bolt. She remembered being thankful that there was another side to Percy’s impulsive coin in the daughter of the wisdom goddess. She remembered when Percy started corresponding with her by email and took his change to the school library and printed out a picture she had sent. Sally remembered seeing him carefully putting it into his notebook and thinking how adorable the crush was. She remembered saying, “That’s Annabeth? She’s very pretty” and laughing quietly at Percy’s furious blush. The grinning thirteen year old in the print-out was nowhere to be found in the young woman who helped her set the table and offered wan ghosts of smiles to Sally and Percy as they put the finishing touches on dinner. Percy’s cute crush had resolved into something deeper than even their fresh relationship last fall. Sally could see it the way he clung to her when she stepped through the door, and the way his eyes kept seeking her out and their unoccupied hands never spent too long without finding the other’s.

Sally remembered when a fourteen year old Percy had ardently insisted that hanging out with Annabeth was “not a date, Mom!!!”. She allowed herself a quiet smile after dinner as she told Annabeth she had an open invitation to their home: “You’re part of the family”. Annabeth’s ears had turned pink and she looked away as she said “thank you”.

_It was a grey Saturday in March, with the last vestiges of New York winter draining from dirty snow melts on street corners. Annabeth neatly hung her coat over the back of her chair and melted into Sally’s hug. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her streak of gray fully visible, reminding Sally of Percy. Because everything reminded her of Percy. That had been another hard winter—dropping the three of them off for a dangerous quest and seeing Percy again weeks later with gray in his hair. She thought that was the hardest thing, that even though her fourteen year old was still all smiles, worries evaporating, he was different now. He had scars._

_“Did I ever tell you about that winter when you went missing?”_

_Annabeth’s expression darkened, her hand, almost subconsciously went to her hair. “It’s a vicious cycle with us, isn’t it?”_

_“He almost came home after they left him out of the quest. But he didn’t, he couldn’t just sit back and hope, not when you were in danger.”_

_“I remember,” Annabeth stared at the table. “He said he ended up following them all the way to DC on his pegasus.”_

_“You’re so alike in that way, Annabeth. You won’t let the each other down. I told him then I knew he would make the right decision for you, because you would do the same for him. And you are Annabeth. You’re doing everything you can.”_

_“It’s not enough.”_

_“But I’m grateful. I’m so grateful he has you.”_

_“I’m thinking about going out to California. My dad lives in San Francisco now, so I can work out of there. Try and find the Romans.”_

_“When?”_

_“Well I think I can withdraw from my classes and move by the end of the month—“_

_Sally had cut her off immediately. “Annabeth you can’t drop out of school.”_

_“I don’t have a choice. I’ve exhausted all of my sources and Jason says the Romans are in California. So if Percy is with the Romans I have to go to California.”_

_“I know how important this is to you. And I am so thankful for all the work you’ve done. But I know school is important to you, too.”_

_Annabeth was silent, tracing patterns on the table with her fingers._

_“As much as I want him home, I don’t think Percy would want you to throw all your aspirations away for him.”_

_“But they don’t matter, not if he’s not here. I can’t focus on school anyway.”_

_“Look at me.”_

_Annabeth did._

_“Promise me you’ll finish the semester.”_

_“I—“_

_“I know I’m not your mother, but I want the best for you, Annabeth. And right now as much as it might hurt, that might be keeping up your studies.”_

_Annabeth was silent for a moment, then with some reluctance nodded. “I’ll still go on spring break, that’s in a few weeks.”_

_“Spring break,” Sally agreed, though she was starting to have festering suspicion that Percy wasn’t going to be found until Hera was ready for him to be. If Annabeth was right about this game, which she probably was. Something bigger was at play, it might not just be a matter of looking._

Paul disappeared to grade a pile of Shakespeare essays from his freshmen, so Sally set about tidying up the kitchen and sorting through a stack of mail. The return to mundanity was comforting, if tenuous.

“Percy, did you—“ she started to ask him about school supplies but the words faded out when she saw he was asleep, both of them were. Percy curled comfortably between Annabeth and the couch cushions with his arms still wrapped around her. Both of their chests moved up and down in the slow even breathing of peaceful sleep—something that Percy didn’t often trade in, so she was certain Annabeth didn’t either. It was hardly eight o clock but she didn’t want to wake them, she wished they would sleep until the skin under both of their eyes wasn’t bruised and puffy, and the limp that Annabeth walked with now (and tried to hide) would vanish on their waking. That she could somehow be the one to keep them safe for once, and feed them till their elbows didn’t stick out like needles and their faces looked like places smiles could live.

_Sally woke up one night in June, sure she had heard the phone ringing, and the next morning found a message on the answering machine from a number with an Alaska area code and the choked up voice of her son, distorted by the phone, saying that he was on a quest. She cried because he was alive. She cried because he remembered her enough to call. She cried because he was on a quest again. She cried because she hadn’t picked up the call. She called Annabeth who showed up at the apartment two hours later, out of breath from taking the stairs three at a time, and said “Can you play it for me?”. Annabeth cried because he was alive and because he was in danger and because ‘Jason woke up with a girlfriend, what if he doesn’t remember me’. And Sally squeezed her hand and told her there was no way that was going to happen. Annabeth had stood up, her priorly teary eyes clear and steely, and said she was going back to camp right then, and she was going to make them finish the boat. She wasn’t sleeping until they finished it, she said, and she was going to go get him._

_Sally loved Annabeth. She loved the set in her jaw and her ironclad loyalty, she loved that Percy had someone this fierce fighting for him for all these months. She loved that Annabeth, with no family to speak of, knew Percy well enough to include Sally in her efforts. She gave Annabeth one last hug before she left and said, “Thank you for not giving up”._

_“I’m bringing him home,” Annabeth had replied._

The way their apartment was laid out meant she could see over the counter of the kitchen into the living room as she cleaned up. She was both immediately present and absent as she watched Percy and Annabeth. She still couldn’t believe he’d been back for a week. For months she had fallen into a process of living that was equal parts hope and grief—dusting his room on weekends, and having to stop herself from setting a place for him at dinner. It was a delicate dance that often resolved into tears. Then after Annabeth left in June she had gone for weeks without word—and somehow those had been the most agonizing. Knowing that even if they found Percy, he would be pulled into this quest to the ancient world, and never knowing if or when she would get news.

July passed in gloomy silence. Every random call in middle of the night was answered with grasping fingers on the nightstand and “Percy” in a frantic voice. None of them were him. August came without fanfare, looking to be the start of another long month with no word. But it promised the end of summer—camp always ended and Percy always came home at the end of summer. He was always home for his birthday, but bent double with the burden of new wars, new trauma. Hope and grief again.

Percy had told her and Paul that he was done with questing, promised them he wouldn’t disappear again. But as much as Sally treasured the idea of his safety and his future, she also knew it might not be a promise he had any control to keep. She wanted a world where he could though, where he was able to make his own choices and where he was safe and where all this was really really over. She knew all about surrender, yielding, about letting him walk his own path even when every motherly instinct in her body was straining to save her child. It had been five years since she had first taken him to camp half blood, and it hadn’t gotten any easier.

At times it felt to her like half of being a mother was hurting for her child from a room away. But what she could do was be there. The battles themselves Percy had to fight alone, but the battles-after-the-battles—the battles he fought with his mind—she could help him with. He was never alone. It was her job to make sure of that. Well, she thought, looking at Percy’s arm around Annabeth, perhaps not just hers anymore.

But it wasn’t just Percy she was worried for. Sally didn’t have a daughter but Annabeth was close these days, and Sally didn’t want any part of her family to hurt. But they were. She watched them sleep in safety on the couch, pressed against each other for dear life, both messes of long hair and prominent bones—weapons finally forgotten on the other side of the room. And she wanted this for them. She longed for a world where they could be finally and totally safe: a world where all this was really, truly over, and a world where Annabeth came over every weekend. She wanted a world where the future wasn’t fraught for all of them: where her and Paul’s child would call Annabeth ‘auntie’ and where they had a Christmas together where no one went off to visit camp and all the presents got unwrapped. It was a tall order at the best of times—and this was not the best of times. Last night she sat up with Percy through consecutive panic attacks, and spent the hours after he had gone to bed with her laptop open reading article after article about PTSD, trauma response in teens and young adults, how to help as a parent, how to help as a person. She knew it was all very different with him. She knew he couldn’t just go find a psychiatrist or sit in psychotherapy like any other hurting teenager because of who he was. She was sorry for that. She was sorry that the gods were not merciful. She was sorry that she was just a mortal. She was sorry for a thousand things.

Sally sat at the kitchen table with her laptop open, quietly tapping out revisions to her manuscript. She found herself feeling the same way she did when Percy was small: like she was his physical protector, like she needed to watch over him. It was a quiet night in on the East Side and there were no threats laid against her son and Annabeth, but she stayed there, with them in her line of sight—like suddenly he might vanish again if she dared to leave. Then there was Annabeth. Annabeth who, around midnight quietly woke up and walked into the kitchen, freezing up briefly when she saw Sally, then relaxing again when she realized who it was.

“Do you mind if I—“ Annabeth started at a whisper.

“Go right ahead,” Sally said.

So Annabeth got a glass of water and joined Sally at the table when she pushed out a chair for her.

“How are you doing, Annabeth?” she asked, closing her laptop and giving Annabeth her full attention.

“I—“ Annabeth started. She looked over in the direction of Percy, then down at her hands. “Did he tell you what happened?”

Sally nodded. She extended her hand to press over Annabeth’s slightly trembling one. Her fingers were cold even in the warm summer.

“I told him to go at his own pace. He tells me what he needs to when it needs to come out. The same goes for you, Annabeth. I’m here if you need to get it out. Whenever you need. Ok?”

“Ok,” Annabeth said quietly.

“So,” Sally asked again, “how are you?”

Annabeth sat up in the chair and tucked her feet underneath her. “I’m so glad to be here,” she admitted. “Being apart, after everything, was harder than I thought. I was so scared—it felt like I would never see him again. Which I know is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, Annabeth. You can’t expect yourself to forget something like that so easily.”

“I guess not.” She was silent for a moment, contemplating her fingers and the tabletop. “When we got there—to the Romans—in California—he remembered me. He said—he said he never forgot me.”

Sally smiled. She hadn’t heard that from Percy, but she remembered Annabeth’s anxiety about his memories. “I told you didn’t I?”

Annabeth smiled, too—a small quiet affair. “You did. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him. And then to go right from that into Rome...god I wish we could have just come home.”

“I’m glad you’re home now,” Sally says, “both of you. In one piece.”

Annabeth looks doubtful. “It sort of doesn’t feel like that.”

“Give yourself time to heal. Give each other time. It seems to me like you all have earned retirement. This should be your last battle if you want it to be.”

“I just can’t imagine that,” Annabeth admits. “Camp has always been my home. I guess I… don’t know how to _not_ be in a fight.”

“Annabeth, do you _want_ to still be in a fight?”

“It’s never been about what we wanted before.”

“But I’m asking about now. Do you want to wade back in?” Sally knew the answer, but she also knew that Annabeth needed to hear herself say it.

“No” she said, not even having to mull it over.

“Then, if you want it, this is your home.”

Annabeth looked shy and furtive, like she was unsure how to proceed. That was another thing to ache over—Annabeth had a hard time accepting love when it was offered to her. But Sally knew that was no reason to withhold it, if anything it just meant she needed more. Annabeth didn’t need to be or even feel alone. She had been there for months with Sally, now Sally could offer her what she had that Annabeth needed—a mortal life and a mother’s love.

“Don’t tell him I said this, but I think I speak for Percy and myself when I say we want you to stay.”

“Stay tonight?” Annabeth asked: sleepy midnight logic working against reasoning.

Sally laughed. “Stay tonight. Stay as long as you want.”

“That might be a really long time.”

“Good.”

Annabeth drained her glass, ghosting a smile that shone out her tired eyes.

“Now, go get some sleep,” said Sally, standing to offer Annabeth another hug, which she melted into. Annabeth was all muscle and sharp shoulder blades and a few inches taller than her, but that didn’t stop Sally from gathering her into her arms. “You’re safe here.”

It wasn’t just comforting words; it was a promise that Sally intended to keep. _Hope survives best at the hearth_ , and right now Percy and Annabeth needed hope. Hope for a better tomorrow without wars to fight, hope for a future past their current darkness. Sally would make sure there was one for them. If she couldn’t give them a life of undisturbed peace, then she could at least give them this space and hot meals and a shoulder to cry out panic attacks on. Because hope was here, in the mundane and ordinary. In family dinners and falling asleep on the couch and a peg left open for Annabeth’s coat.

**Author's Note:**

> title from super fade by fall out boy


End file.
